


To New Beginnings and Different Endings

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Monte Carlo (2011)
Genre: F/M, Finding things that were never lost, Healing, Missing Moments, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: For Theo and Grace (and many others) Monte Carlo was one of those experiences that divided their life in before and after, and left them to never be quite the same again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I can't stop writing and I love this movie and the positive tone of the end and I needed more.

_Grace_

Grace admits- only to herself- that she may have had ulterior motives for volunteering with the Marchand Family foundation. It isn’t that the things she told her mom and Rob- her dad (that’s going to take some getting used to) aren’t true, because they are. Her need to find herself, without restrictions, without anyone knowing her is definitely not a lie. Her need to feel like she can leave a mark on this world, even without being someone special, just as an ordinary Texas girl, plays a big part.

As Ghandi once said: ‘you must be the change you want to see in the world’, and she comes back from Monte Carlo feeling lost, feeling bereft of something she never truly had. Just seeing all those people, with their money and decadent live style, throwing money around like used tissues; people able to _be_ that change, but unwilling.

She wore someone else’s skin for a week, someone else’s clothes, shoes and jewellery, and wondered at the kind of person Cordelia was.

(She did not like the answer)

A spoiled, stuck up brat who believes the whole world turns around her, and whom cares nothing about others except how she can use them for her own gain.

But then, Grace spent the week lying, stole a flight, pretended to be someone else.

Cordelia’s skin was a misfit, but the way Theo looked at her in it made it feel real. And then, of course, he found out.

In the end, Paris was a way to prove herself (to herself), to shake of high school and all its awkward glory, to find out if she could be someone worthy, someone confident, someone beautiful.

She wore the skin of a girl considered all of the above and didn’t particularly like it, but did want it. Realised, that she _too_ had the means to make a mark on the world, if only by taking a chance. She couldn’t give millions of dollars or Euros or whatever, so she would give herself. Besides, she doesn’t feel ready for college at all.

And fine, she also doesn’t have the money, or the energy to start looking for it.

She tells her parents about the project she happened to discover in Paris, since she never told them about Monte Carlo. Emma would have, but she was too busy celebrating her engagement with Owen and Meg was off touring the world with Riley- she had definitely not seen that one coming, but she is happy for them. Happy for Emma Perkins, who deserves the world and is starting to see it (though Grace is sure Emma would say the same thing about her) and happy for... her sister, and that will take some getting used to too, but she likes it, in a strange way that grows on her.

Grace figures it is her time now, and signs up to help build schools in Romania, without much second thought. And it is only when she lies in bed at night that she allows herself to think of her ulterior motives at all, allows her brain to fantasise about them- or about the person they come down to: Theo.

She isn’t naive, or so she would like to think, and she isn’t doing this for the wrong reasons either. She genuinely wants to help those kids, wants to be a part in their search for a brighter future. It is only in her wildest dreams that she pictures the possibility of running into Theo, as unlikely as she knows it is. He told her (or Cordelia) himself: he has never been to those schools. Mostly she just thinks that he will see her on a picture maybe, and spare a second to think about the girl that made him think it was okay to feel differently.

She catches the first possible flight to Romania, doesn’t bemoan the fact that she has to fly commercial too much, and mostly sleeps through the flight. At the airport she is greeted by a sweet man with a heavy accent who introduces himself as Florin and insists on carrying her bags. In the car, he makes her laugh with his tales about the kids, and warns her for a menace called Cami.

He has paint on his knuckles, and stops in the middle of the road to take in a stray dog; telling her that the school adopts those, too.

Grace barely gets the time to put down her (one) bag in her tiny bedroom before she is ushered downstairs, to meet the kids, to start painting, to water the plant, to run errands.

She is so busy she can barely catch her breath, and as time goes on she _feels_ something change. The need to be someone special, the search for validation becomes less. She sees the stars in the kids’ eyes, the way they tug at her sleeves, the way her bedroom walls become a giant collage of children drawings, and the plant in the corner starts blooming. She sees the walls take shape behind her brush, sees Florin pick the children up and throw their little frames into the air, introducing them to a kind of flying so much more magical than private jets with warm nuts.

The man always has paint on his knuckles, and she sees why the third week she’s there: every time a child is sad he pretends to fall into a freshly painted wall, hands in fists to not damage it too much and then paints the children’s faces with his coloured knuckles.

The dogs always barge into the bedrooms at night, randomly choosing someone to accompany through the night, and Grace has barely a thought to spare, trying to wrestle for the pillow with Blackie, or Socks, or one of the other five dogs that walk their halls.

(She prefers those to the white cat, however, Felina always ends up claiming the whole bed.)

Cami steals the paint brush and hides behind apple saplings and carrot seedlings, but she is the sweetest girl in the world. Once, she catches Grace crying, missing home a bit, missing Monte Carlo too and goes to get Felina and Socks, leaves them to fight over her lap as she makes Grace some lemonade.

“It’s a secret,” she giggles, as Grace asks the recipe but then stands on tiptoes to whisper in her ear: “My mummy always says: add sugar for lemonade, and a drop of honey to make sunshine.”

Grace soon figures out that Alma is the life of the organization, the one that never sleeps, pouring over finances and report cards, buying paint and light bulbs, and so she makes it a habit to bring the woman tea at night, but only when Grace is the only one that can’t sleep- many nights there are two cocoa mugs on the woman’s desk, and a boy or girl nodding off on the bench. They always wake up in their own beds the next morning, with a sweet on the night stand.

 The Romanian sun has healing powers, and Grace basks in its rays. It’s exactly three months after she arrived, and one month after she resolved to learn whatever lesson Monte Carlo was meant to be, and to stop dwelling about what could have been that a whistling sound stops her in her tracks, almost makes her crash her bike into a car.

And it _is_ him, Theo, and it is only when she sees him that she realises she has managed to leave Cordelia’s skin completely behind, crawl back into her own, her body creating new cells with her DNA to say goodbye.

She is ready to start over. She is ready to be herself, just as she is; no one special, an ordinary girl from Texas, but one that can make even the shyest boy smile, get a secret recipe from a girl, and put stars in children’s eyes.

“Theo. What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. What are you doing here?”

“I’m volunteering.”

She sees the wonder on his face, the easy going smile she missed so much, and thinks perhaps not all is lost. She is ready to start over, maybe he is too.

“I don't think that we've properly met. I'm Grace Bennett.” The tightening of her cheek muscles and the pull at the corner of her eyes clue her in to the fact that she can’t stop smiling.

He takes her hand, a bit hesitantly, but then wraps secure fingers around it and holds it as if he is never going to let go: “Theo Marchand.”

His hand in hers feels like a promise of more to come, and his scent wraps around her; pulling her in, the breeze tickling their hair, hinting at possibilities.

And Grace thinks that now, she is the one with stars in her eyes, and perhaps he put them there, or perhaps they have been there all along.

 

 

_Theo_

It takes Theo three weeks to stop wallowing and suck up his pride enough to ask his father for the girl’s name. He has always been too curious for his sake, anyways. Why change that now?

Bernard Marchand gives his son an enigmatic smile but has the good grace to not comment on it. And about that...

“Grace”

“Grace?”

“Yes, Grace Bennett I believe she said. She also asked me to tell you that you were right. She is different.”

“And you tell me this now, papa?”

“I did not think you’d care to hear this three weeks ago, Theo,” he says, placing his hand on his son’s shoulders.

“She lied to me- to us.”

“Oui,” his father says simply.

“She pretended to be someone she was not.”

“Oui.”

He kind of pauses, because that’s mostly it, and well, it is not so impressive out loud as it was in his head.

“May I remind you that she also went to great lengths trying- and succeeded- to stop Cordelia and save the auction, that she did everything possible to meet expectations, and that she raised more money than I could have possibly hoped for?”

“But that was Alicia!” he argues.

“Peut-être,” his father shrugs, “but Alicia is a dear old friend, and I’ve never seen her do something like this. She took a fierce liking to Grace. Told me she wished Cordelia was more like her. Now tell me, son... would you have been happier had it been Cordelia from the beginning?”

“No.” Theo’s shoulders slump, affirming the truth in his words.

“Ah voila, there you go then. I am not going to defend her actions, and I think Grace would not approve if I did, but I do believe she was wrong when she said she was no one special. She inspired Alicia, and me, and might I venture- you.”

“I want to go to the schools, papa.” Theo says, nodding firmly. “I want to start doing something real.”

His father simply smiles.

Theo did not lie to Grace, not one second, except maybe when he walked away from her. Walked back to his fancy, expensive car, took the key from the valet and drove away, to his luxurious home with its pool and its stables and its sprawling gardens, and felt-again-as if he was faking his way through before he decided to not let himself feel anything at all and grabbed a bottle and his phone to invite some friends.

Now, he thinks it is time to suit action to his words, to find something meaningful to do, to make a change.

He goes to Africa first, inspects buildings, safety and the health of the food. He talks finances, dormitories and investments. He interviews teachers and sometimes helps paint. He visits all the projects, or tries to, and stays at least a week, listens to concerns and needs, and writes up a report each night, including the children’s requests.

He ends up in Rajasthan, where he stays a month, and spends it falling in love with teaching and sleeping on a cot. It is not what he is used to at all, mattresses hard and pillows too soft, food simple and only one course, but it is everything he needs. He has never felt more real.

Perhaps, he is ready to forgive Grace, or better yet, ready to thank her. Without her, this change would have never happened, and he would still be in Monte Carlo, feeling as if everything was a twisted fairy tale, not significant, not real.

She _was_ different, and she still makes him feel different, and he wonders if his father kept track of her, knows where she is.

(It turns out, much later, that yes, his father kept track of her, unbeknownst to the both of them and let fate play out the way he wanted it to.)

The moment he sees the girl on the bike, he knows it is her, and there is nothing more important than not losing her again.

Theo has spent three months only allowing himself to think about Grace Bennett sporadically, pretending she did not affect him as much as she had, and practising whistling every night. These things are not related to each other. (but yes, of course they are.)

They meet in the middle of the street, children looking at them through the window, and she smiles more beautifully than Cordelia ever could.

“Theo. What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. What are you doing here?”

“I’m volunteering.”

And it fits; it fits so perfectly, just as the children, and Alma and Florin, just as the black dog with white paws that is wagging its tail behind her, and the white cat lying in the sunshine.  It is as a puzzle, the pieces falling into place, because this is the place they were meant to meet again, both of them acting out of a desire to not let the Monte Carlo experience go to waste, to stop faking their way through life.

(and yes, he suspects Bernard Marchand might have engineered this, but he is only more grateful for it)

“I don't think that we've properly met,” she says, holding out her hand, “I'm Grace Bennett.”

He takes her hand, a bit hesitantly, but then wraps his fingers tightly around it and holds it without meaning to let go again: “Theo Marchand.”

Her hand in his feels like a promise of more to come, and her eyes are brilliant, beautiful, inviting him closer. The breeze tickles their hair, hinting at all the possibilities they are about to see.

And Theo thinks that he feels different again, or perhaps he never stopped feeling different since he met her, since she barged into his life and changed the way he saw everything, rearranged and put it all in perspective and gave him something to hold on to.


End file.
